In 2011 Steve Jobs dies, and no one was surprised that he was Santa Knows for the year.
I’m always cautious about posting work in progress … some people (understandably) don’t love process the way I do. It is what it is and I know not everyone wants to see the sausage getting made. That said, posting this in-progress landscape image. The details are missing but the structure is there. Loving this location the way I do… the underlying structure is beautiful.
Years ago, way before I ever started painting, I went to an astrologer-psychic person. The first thing she said … and kept saying over and over was this: “I can see that you are in a highly creative field … I’m not sure which one since you missed being a writer by just one click … are you a chef?” At the time, making my way through life as a public opinion researcher (and perfectly happy about that), I tried to make her reading fit my reality “… well I do work for television stations and ad agencies … close enough.” Turns out that wasn’t close enough.
Now, having ended up as a portrait painter, I think I missed being a surrealists by ‘just one click’. When I swerved over into that lane (the Unseen Architecture days) nobody went there with me. I mean nobody … even my lifelong friend and kindred spirit, the amazingly talented Mervil Paylor said “I understand the idea you are trying to express, but I’m afraid most people will look at these paintings and think ‘plaid’.” I still dream in ‘plaid’ … and long to see those visions in common hours … but for now I’m leaving Unseen Architecture in dreamland.
That said, here’s a Santa Knows tribute to one of the greats — Son of Man, the 1964 painting by Belgian surrealist René Magritte. It’s always been a favorite … particularly love the cameo in Thomas Crown Affair (the 2nd one) … one of those art heist movies I love so much.
As of December 2019, here is the Lockhart StudioKitchen. WOW has this place come a long way. I’m awestruck with gratitude for the forces and people on team Cindy. You deserve my best, and that’s what I’ll return to you.
Painted the floor this weekend. The original plan was to do it section by section, until it occurred to me that I’d have in-progress disruption for weeks. The idea on the floor paint is to unify the space with a neutral color, in this case the old fashioned gray porch paint … and then distress it to show a bit of the history beneath. Now there’s not much left to do in this space … stove and sink, and a bit of carpentry. We’ll get there.
Already it feels so terrific … like my best work is buzzing. I’ve certainly loved studios before, but I’ve never traveled so far for one. From this resting place I’m thinking a lot about what my work should be and what it should mean … beginning to craft an Artist Statement … they do, and should evolve over time. In the past, writing them was a chore, but curiously, that’s not the case this time. Below is some aspirational language … and I have to admit it’s a bit embarrassing to state it in such a definitive PRESENT TENSE. But I have to state it that way because … well … that’s what ya do. (… and if you think it’s rubbish, please be kind.)
I am a storyteller. My stories are humanistic and bright. They celebrate love and beauty. Although I acknowledge the reality of ugliness, I won’t be painting it … let other artists carry that water. At its best my work is richly layered — arrestingly beautiful, both personal and universal … and of both authentic and perceived value.
…OK, that’s just a start …. obviously I’m still working on it … but now I have to go and work on other things. Stay tuned.
2006 marked the beginning of an annual Christmas card tradition for Studio C Shute — Santa Knows. Here’s the story:
I had been looking, and looking for just the right card to receive from your portrait painter. The list of recipients started out small … family, friends and, the real impetus — portrait clients. I’d been selling and living in the DC market for nearly three years at that point, with steady work, so the number was maybe 30 or 40. Of the cards I reviewed, nothing rose above the level of ‘let’s put this in the stack with all the others’ … what I was really going for was ‘this came from our artist friend, wow, let’s save it!’. With time closing in one Saturday morning on the Choptank River, I decided just to do what artists do …. and so I was, as my adorable friend Bob Fouhy always used to say, “off like a honeymoon nightie!”
The card needed a theme, something clearly stretching the boundaries of tradition. I decided to play off the notion that “Santa knows if you’ve been naughty or nice” because I think that’s the coolest aspect of the Santa … presents are interesting, but c’mon, they’re nothing compared with Omniscience. Eureka. Santa Knows was born.
My model, James Peters Snyder was at the time a well-known architect in DC, having in previous years done the wonderful National Indian Museum. It’s a triumph of design, I think, on the National Mall across from the Capitol. Architects and artists usually get along, and he was happy to help. I used oil wash on a small piece of gessoed paper, with a little bit of pencil. Three colors: Williamsburg bohemian green earth, aquamarine blue, and permanent rose.
And weirdly …. Santa Knows was a hit. From that first small mailing, I got tons of notes and calls from people who loved them … they loved the idea of a studio-made card … hand-signed … with an invented origami-style envelope made from regular printer paper. I stayed up all night figuring out how to fold the paper so that it would close with the stamp, no glue or cutting, and still meet USPS requirements … it took 10 times longer than the painting itself.
The project became a tradition for over a decade, and the mailing list swelled. Subsequently, I used a well-known face … Einstein, Steve Jobs, Dalai Lama” … so all year long people would ask who Santa Knows would be that year. Have to tell you … sitting here this morning in my cozy Studio Kitchen … and writing about Santa Knows …. I’m really missing the guy!
Recently I got some disturbing news … unexpected and personal … anyway the details are unimportant. And the second the truth of it hit me, I threw up …. literally. First time that’s ever happened. My loved ones understand this reaction in context: I may be a handful (as my mother says), but I aways keep my dinner down.
Here’s the amazing thing: the whole time I was convulsing, I heard one thing over and over — ‘this is one of the greatest gifts of your life’. Now with some distance, I understand the profound truth of that message. Time to face the beast within.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve always heard an inner voice. As a child I heard it audibly; now it just comes through as a thought … one from outside … generally in conflict with whatever I was actually “thinking” at the time. My talent, like a runaway horse, always scares me, but the voice never does. And I ALWAYS listen.
In the studio I let go of reality … fully surrender … and the voice takes over. It bypasses my conscious mind entirely, going right to muscle memory. That’s particularly true with portraits, when it’s essential to leave the self behind. In the early days of painting I would dip in and out of that zone. As I progressed, I transcended more and more. For me the real difficulty of painting is to stay in that unknowable place … because when you come out, it is the beast you hear.
I remember the first painting done completely in the zone … it was very early, a self portrait, almost two decades ago. When I look at it now, I know the voice is magic … I’m honestly not sure I could paint this well again, even today.
Here’s Buster. Hopefully in a week or so he’ll be dry enough to ship to Mississippi. I was not sure the ears-back pose would turn out, but Rheta was good with it … she said that’s how he always looks. I think he looks really sweet.
This might surprise you, but my fantasy has never been to be famous. My fantasy is to be average. OK. As a public opinion researcher I truly understand what that is. So maybe just slightly above average.
I remember driving through the mountains of North Carolina in my 20’S and seeing a trailer nestled sweetly in a valley and thinking that the person who lives there works in a furniture mill. I would fantasize for hours about how their alarm clock would go off and they would get up for their shift.
But I never wanted to wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and do this. In 43 minutes.
There’s something strange in the air today … I woke up with a profound sense of “difference” in the world … as if I went to sleep in one reality, and woke up this morning in an entirely different universe. It’s not a bad feeling … just very odd. So … what’s a painter to do… Self Portrait in Favorite Gray Sweater. Have to say I like where the hair is going!
Here’s a new piece, Buster, after the first work session. My dear friend Rheta Grimsley has commissioned a couple of pet sketches in the past, and we are surprising her husband with this new one for Christmas. Rheta is a fabulous dog lover, one of her books is a dog memoir … wonderful story … so I consider her sort of an expert. Having her consider my dog sketches collectable is a big compliment. I’m so thankful for that.
I started this riverscape yesterday evening … prep sketch for the “Sandbar” commission I’ll start later in the week. This picture is 24x20, much smaller than the commission will be, and covers only the focal point of the scene. As simple as this composition appears to be, it’s still vital to work out any drawing problems before ever starting the larger picture. No matter how beautifully rendered, a representational painting with underlying drawing deficiencies will never suspend the disbelief of the viewer.
This storied location is beloved to me. You are looking due north up the Chattahoochee River where it forms the border between Georgia and Alabama — Georgia’s west coast — the view from the bridge connecting Fort Gaines to, a few miles away, Abbeville Alabama. My studio was atop the bluff that rose 80 feet above this sandbar. The little studio building, constructed of reclaimed materials from the region, was outfitted with wavy glass windows all along the river side and the longer north wall. The windows came from a restored Victorian … why they wanted to replace the beautiful old ones still baffles me … but I was happy to have them. I did some good work in that studio, and still miss the place.
Years ago the sandbar was a forbidden destination for adventurous teens. Most of the locals have tender memories of the place … coming of age, party stories from a different time. I hiked down there once or twice, but the old river road, abandoned years ago, is almost completely covered over, and was passable (with difficulty) only in winter. In the early 1900’s Fort Gaines was a thriving river port, and the bluff was buzzing with wharfs and warehouses … and, from what I have heard, lots of border-town style misbehavior. After all of that …. the sandbar remains. I think that’s why I love rivers so much … they just keep going where they’re going, with the glorious indifference of purpose.
Feeling the season in the StudioKitchen.
The two or so years I studied with Ben Long were life changing. I learned so much that I literally became a different person. My life would never be the same.
I asked him once how I could repay him. As an apprentice, I worked for him, so I did not pay for instruction. He said that I had been given sacred knowledge, a tradition that has been passed down for centuries, and it is my absolute obligation to teach, to keep the tradition alive. I haven’t done much teaching, mainly because I hate telling other people what to do.
Thursday I gave my dear friend, lawyer/painter Bucko, a traditionally prepared linen board to try. He is completely self-taught, but very talented, much more than he realizes. I think I may see in him what Ben saw in me. In addition to painting, he and Mary Nell have an amazing art collection hung salon style … that’s the real sign of a good eye.
So today over coffee I sent him some thoughts on how to approach the day. I am reprinting those notes here thinking that may, in some small way, move me in the direction of teaching. Below is the aforementioned canvas in his studio this morning (complete with Alia footprints) …. ready to go.
Good morning, painting buddy. You mentioned that you might try out the new linen board today. Here are a couple of things to consider:
The preference for linen in portraits stems from the tight twists in the treads … much more than cotton. Optically, these twisted fibers are the best for creating the illusion of volume. I have no idea why that is true, but it is. Great portraits are almost always rendered on linen.
Boards are great for layering. Even with wet-into-wet painting (that’s what you do as compared to wet-on-dry as I do), you’ll find more interesting possibilities for building a dynamic color experience. Since you already create a great color experience, this will be an easy refinement for you. You have a great eye for color already.
As you first start composing the image, use bristle brushes … something stubborn that will get the first layer of paint down into the recesses of the linen. Scrub the paint into the grain on that initial layer, and don’t use thick layers at first. This is called scumbling.
I think it’s best to scumbling out the entire composition at first. Get the drawing established before you have gobs of paint on the surface.
In my technique, I let this first layer dry before going back in to finish, but you don’t have to do that. Just get the drawing layer stumbled in, and then go back in with the dynamic top layers.
Use complementary colors for the first layer. For example, if you are painting a red apple, do this first under-layer in green. Trust me on this… allow tiny bits of green to show through under the red … and the result is not just red, but LIVING RED! This is one of the great secrets for getting objects that FEEL real, even if they are rendered in a very painterly fashion.
If you don’t like what you do on this first day, just wipe it off. Even if you have some remaining color on the board, that’s fine. It’s called a toned ground. I almost never paint on white canvas; I always tone the ground.
Square compositions can be very interesting. Frank Lloyd Wright loved squares in construction, and said that the square has integrity. I know you are an impatient painter, but before you start, take some scrap paper and sketch out (very roughly is fine) where you want things. I think for this first square it might be best to do something focused, like a still life. Probably not best for a landscape at first. The square focuses attention on the objects. You may not want to put the focal point of the painting in the dead center of the square. I think a slightly off-center composition is often more energetic.
Have fun!
So pleased that Joni loves the painting of Honey. We decided to skip the bees originally planned for the piece … she has other pet sketches, and this background will be a better fit with the collection. I’m so fortunate to have quite a few commissions this year … mostly for holiday events and gifts … Thank You Universe.
She’s done. Birth of Venus, my third painting on this theme. It was over a year ago when I started this one …. and what a year it’s been! I guess all things happen in their own time as the convergence of so many vectors.
These last few days I’ve explored how her expression can shift with the smallest changes, the tiniest marks. And now, every time I look at her I feel something different — wonder, fear, mystery, desire, peace, youthful indifference — I guess over time I’ll know more about that — beauty has so many dimensions. The home stretch of a project like this is always intense … these last days of work have been emotionally charged and I’ve thought of very little else. I love it when that happens — it is what I live for.
Photographing this painting has been impossible. Guess that’s mainly because the iridescent gold background absolutely does not read correctly … clearly this one will need a professional photographer.
The symbolism in this painting is highly personal; I can only hope it translates universally. At the very least, I hope you are struck by her beauty.
On a deeper level, the primordial sea is below and divine light above. The flowers, a nod to Botticelli’s masterwork, represent the unfolding of material reality. Beauty, like love, is a force — not an emotion or an opinion — it shines with original light. Gold reaches down into the dark water of possibility like the fingers of God. The shadow boxes with each of the flowers are Platonic forms come into expression … I guess the sea could be thought of as the cave in Plato’s allegory, but I see it as the opening to the cave … the moment of illumination … the opportunity to choose. The flowers, like Venus herself, emerge from the sea as matter … as beauty we can see. Upon seeing her we feel the magic of original light, but that is only because that light already exist within us. It connects with us because it reminds us who we are. As one of my spiritual teachers often reminds me “You don’t fall in love; you don’t find beauty. Your circumstances may cause you to ‘feel’ that you do, but they simply open a door that is inside you. You can access the divine inside yourself anytime you want. You can feel love just by feeling it; you can see beauty anywhere you look for it.”
So maybe it is The Good Fight to open that door … to share the magic of beauty. I wonder all the time why I paint, and I guess the best explanation I can come up with it this: God I love it so!
Venus is at the gate … just a few more glazes to finish … maybe fiddle with the flowers. But I have to put her away for a few days to get back to some commissions … as my teacher used to say, “time to feed the babies.” Tonight I’ll have my customary signing ritual … my first in the StudioKitchen. Steak for dinner, with lemon and olive oil, salad and then Scottish shortbread cookies with espresso for dessert. And then I’ll sign … time for a new signature, at least for this one painting … I saw it in my sleep last night.
… Good day of work on Venus … even though I’m leaving her with a muddy color underpainting for the evening, it’s been a blast to tweek the expression all day … and experience how the tiniest marks can change the feeling of the piece.
I’m excited about an upcoming landscape painting, a commission for a friend and collector … a riverscape called Sandbar. The canvas … she wants a specific size … has been assembled, stretched with coarse linen, and primed with lead white. Because the linseed oil based ground (a primer basically to keep the oil paint from coming into direct contact with the linen fibers) needs to cure for a couple of weeks, I’ve got some time to consider how I want to execute the piece.
Like portraiture, I use a couple of different styles in landscape painting. One is a sketchy, colorful style — executed as “painterly,” which means you can clearly see that it is a painting — evident brush strokes, relaxed approach to the underlying drawing. The other style would be described as “realism,” either classical realism (think Constable) or contemporary realism (think Hopper). If I’m doing a quick plein air sketch, it will certainly lean toward painterliness. Studio work, using sketches and photographs as source materials tends to lean toward realism. But realism is a spectrum, and with landscapes I’m not anchored … I never automatically fall into a specific voice range. Probably shouldn’t admit it, but when it comes to landscapes, I don’t have a definitive style.
While waiting for the Sandbar board to set up, I’m going to do a couple of practice pieces … using pre-stretched canvases … cotton instead of linen … and ready to go right now. Regardless of style, I love to use a red toned ground for landscapes. My favorite paint company, Williamsburg, produces truly handmade pigments. A lot of artists don’t like Williamsburg because the pigments handle unpredictably … which is the very reason I love them. I love it when the materials and the subject participate in the process.
Williamsburg BrownPink is a magnificent landscape ground. Unless your are painting with VERY thick paint, the ground always shows through to some extent. The most beautiful classical landscapes I can think of have a soft red glow at the edges of the green elements. For me, red balances the green and also elevates it. So this morning I applied a toned ground, BrownPink, to 20 x 24 inch canvases. I used a couple of drops of cobalt, so they should be dry enough in a day or two. Here we go landscape voice …
Those two or three years studying with Ben Long, I must have heard a hundred times a day, “this is how it’s done in the Florentine School, so this is how you are going to do it.” The classical tradition began with the Renaissance Masters, and has been passed down for centuries, generation to generation, Master to apprentice … and somehow it ended up with me. (Fortunately it also ended up with many other artists … whew! …way too scary to think of myself as the sole standard-bearer.)
How the Florentine School found me is another story … the yard sale. I’ll save that for later.
The Florentine School is not just a specific art style … the way the paintings look to the viewer … there’s a lot more to it. It is a tradition that includes not just making art, but also the lifestyle and philosophy around the work. Studio rituals. The painting process. The materials. The way of seeing. All things composition. Interacting with subjects. With clients. With patrons. What you eat and drink. It is the complete commitment to living as a classical artist. It is the often overlooked details … the mark of the studio — how the painting is signed (always in red). It is the reason I call myself Studio C Shute. It is the willingness to face a cold November morning with hope … (and hot mushroom meatball soup for breakfast).
This installment of “The Florentine School” is “making boards” as Ben used to say. It was heavy with process, so we usually devoted most of a day to it, and made multiple boards at one time. Painting on a rigid surface (if using the right materials … the “traditional” ones, of course) is the most archival method. Fresco is actually more permanent, but it’s not really the same thing, since in fresco the pigment is absorbed into the plaster, and does not rest on top of it in a paint film.
Making boards: rabbit skin glue prepared in double boiler, birch plywood, either three-quarters thick or one-quarter mounted on stretcher bars, wood sealed with glue, linen or canvas (always linen for portraits) glued to the board with warm glue starting from the center out, edges wrapped and corner folds done just so, dry for two days at least, light sanding to make sure the paint gets down into the linen fibers, lead white ground, a week or two (minimum) to cure, and then you are ready to paint.
This is my first time prepping boards in the Lockhart StudioKitchen, so I’m just figuring out how this machine will work. Here is a fairly large canvas, 30 by 48 inches, ready … well, maybe late today … for the first layer of ground. This panel is for a landscape commission … a river scene called “The Sand Bar” … which was actually the view outside my wonderful little studio in Fort Gaines. Can’t wait to get started ….
I’ve been painting A LOT in the past few days … and that can become disorienting. I call it losing time — the normal patterns of sleeping-eating-working-day-night … they just fade away. Frankly, it’s a pretty terrific place to be for painting, but not being earthbound for too long just gets weird. So I try to be hyper-vigilant about meditation, which for me is grounding, mostly using the mind-emptying TM approach. Lately I’ve been using techniques with a physical dimensions to the practice, like walking and writing meditations. (note to self: time to finally learn yoga). This morning I’ve been lost in a wonderful poem from Rumi …. handwriting it word for word … step by step … like face to face contact with the ideas one by one.
Very peaceful. So now back to the angstie business of delivering the promise of Venus.
